The Brawl
by fmapreshwab
Summary: O'Brien, Bashir and Worf's fight during The Bar Association. O'BrienBashir.


We were playing a simple game at the start of it. The staff at Quark's Bar had, in response to the prompting of Julian and myself, started a union and were in the process of a strike. We were standing at the second level entrance to the bar (the only one not barricaded by strikers) trying to discern the "enter"s from the "pass"s. Worf stalked up to the entrance and I had him pegged as a pass. He could barely stand Quark on a normal basis; I couldn't believe he'd stand against a righteous cause to side with the little worm-sucking latinum-grubbing-

"He's an enter!" Julian cried, his near-shrill little voice quivering with indignation.

I just couldn't let that stand. "Not for long." I grabbed Julian by the wrist and led him into the bar, calling after the traitorous son of a- "Commander, Commander Worf!" We caught him in time to stop him from ordering.

"Commander, what in the hell do you think you are doing?" Julian asked angrily. It struck me as odd to be the one holding the angry man in check, but he visibly calmed as I pulled him away. I took a step forward, pushing Julian behind me.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, then started in. "Now," I started calmly. "What in the hell DO you think you're doing?" I was getting angry, and toward the end I had started shouting.

I could see Worf trying to keep his calm. "What I am doing is neither your concern, nor that of the doctor."

"The hell it isn't! This strike is never going to work if people keep coming to the bar."

"I fail to see how this strike has anything do with either of you. Or myself, for that matter."

"That doesn't matter now, the strike is right, and you can't just be supporting Quark. And what the hell are you doing supporting Quark in the first place?"

"My motives are also none of your concern, chief. It is as a matter of courtesy that I have continued this conversation. I now choose to end it." He began to turn away, back toward the table and the holographic waiter, one of several standing in for the strikers.

That's when I made my first mistake. I put a hand on his shoulder and tried to turn him back to me. "Commander, I—" I started, but before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist with a force that could almost crush bone. As soon as I dropped my grip, he took hold of me by either shoulder and shoved me back into poor Julian, just trying to stay out of the way.

He rushed up to fill the space between us and tried to hold the Klingon commander back. "Boys, boys, let's not—" Julian started. Worf threw him over the nearest table.

"Worf, how dare—" I started, approaching him again. I was about to jump the behemoth, claw his eyes out, punch his lights out for hurting little Julian (forget the strike, this was personal), but Odo intervened. He held us apart with the strength of steel. The Bajoran security personnel he always had lurking around dragged us down into the security office. They had to carry Julian; the fall had knocked him out. He always seemed so small when he was unconscious.

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After getting dumped in the holding cell, Julian woke up and I filled him in on what had happened. He and I did our best to give Worf a large berth, stay clear of him. I wanted to hit the bastard, beat the hell out of him, but Julian convinced me it was a bad idea, mainly relying on the argument that we were only in this predicament as a result of my last attempt to hit the Klingon.

The captain came in before too long, and we did our very best to make it sound like a big misunderstanding. It didn't work, and he told us we'd be staying the night in the cell. Odo came back to get our statements, then, presumably to ensure we didn't start another fight, he separated us from Worf.

We settled in for the long haul, discussing first the strike, which led into family history, which led into the ancient British wars we're always reenacting in the holosuites. By the time the conversation wound down, the lumbering Klingon was asleep in the next cell, loud snores drifting over and around the holding area. "Klingons," I grumbled to Julian with a cock of my head in Worf's direction. "Can't even _sleep_ quietly."

"Oh, come on," he said, playfully hitting me in the arm, "He can't help his snoring any better than you can. I hate to be the one to tell you, but your snoring could wake the dead." He was grinning that little scampy grin of his as he said it.

"Oh, thank you, doctor. I'll be sure not to fall asleep tonight; I would hate to disturb you." I was just joking, but it sounded resentful and bitter even as I said it. It wiped the grin right off his face, and I was sorry to have said it. I let loose a sigh before apologizing. "I'm sorry, Julian, I'm just frustrated. Here I am, sitting in a holding cell with you, and it's probably the most exciting night I've had in a month. I have nothing to go home to."

He looked over at me with those eyes, pleading and depressed. "Well, at least you're not alone. You have me," he finished, hope tingeing the depths of the mahogany orbs turned up at me.

"Suppose I do at that," I said with a grin, looking down and putting an arm around his slender shoulders. "Julian, sometimes I think you're the only reason I haven't gone completely insane."

He rewarded me with that youthful, schoolboy grin of his and I had to choke down the urge to ruffle his hair. He's just too damn young for his own good sometimes. I smiled down at him affectionately and he straightened on the bench we shared, rising to his full height. He dwarfed me by a few centimeters, leaving me feeling small. Something happened to him then, something changed; I saw it in his eyes, some primal shift. He was no more the smiling schoolboy than I was a giggling little girl. He leaned down again, coming closer, closer.

I felt my fingers tangling in his hair as our lips met. I could feel his tongue sliding along the roof of my mouth as I licked his teeth. My right hand slowly found its way to the zipper at his neck. I was just undoing the clasp when he stopped me. He pulled back and covered my hand with his own. He paused just long enough for me to savor the feeling of his hand on mine before removing both from his neck. "Miles," he admonished, eyes wide. "Worf is right there." He gestured to the cell next to ours. "Is this really the best time?"

"Oh, I happen to know that that particular Klingon is an extremely heavy sleeper," I told him confidently.

His gaze penetrated me. "And how, Miles, would you know that?"

I grinned slyly as my hand once again found its way to his collar.

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Odo sat in his office, appalled by the images being fed to his monitor from the holding cells.


End file.
